


I'll Make a Million Mistakes

by happybeans



Series: Biodad AU [2]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Angst, Gen, the boys are fIGHTINGGGG
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:49:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27974708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/happybeans/pseuds/happybeans
Summary: Peter and Tony get in a fight. Lots of drama ensues.
Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Series: Biodad AU [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2048894
Comments: 4
Kudos: 99





	I'll Make a Million Mistakes

**Author's Note:**

> Hiiii! This story is part two in my biodad AU, which was prompted and inspired by AO3 user, [Malya!](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Malya/pseuds/Malya) Thanks Malya!!

A little over a month has passed since Peter and Tony found out that Tony’s his biological dad. Not too much has changed between them since. Peter still lives with Aunt May, goes out as Spider-Man, and heads over for lab-days, now a few times a week.

This was supposed to be a fun weekend spent at the tower with Tony.

It’s not the first time Peter’s stayed over. Though, by the way things are going… It’s shaping up to be the last.

“You completely disrespected me!” Tony’s glaring, mouth curled into a snarl and hands on his hips as he rants, “Did I not tell you to stay out of this one?”

“Y—”

“I’m pretty sure I did.” Peter shuts his mouth, pulling in a breath through his nose. “Didn’t I say that, FRIDAY?”

“Tony—”

“Up-up!” Tony holds up a finger, pushing it close to Peter’s face, and Peter glares, knowing the mask will obscure it enough to deny it later, should it come to that. He takes a step back. “FRIDAY?”

“Yes, boss, you did tell Peter that.” It helps that FRIDAY at least sounds somewhat reluctant to take part in the argument.

“Interesting,” Tony says, pulling his hand back to cross his arms over his chest. He looks up to the ceiling, pretending to act thoughtful as he continues, “So if I remember it…and FRIDAY remembers it… Then what does that tell you?”

Peter’s quiet for a moment. Then he takes a breath and starts, “I—”

But Tony cuts him off again.

“Don’t try to say you forgot.” That’s not what Peter was going to say at all. Tony’s volume begins to rise as he says, “You blatantly ignored me, you went behind my back, and you lied about the one thing I specifically told you not to do.”

“I was just trying to help.” Peter’s voice comes out small, disappointment and exhaustion seeping through.

It has nothing to do with how he’s made Tony mad at him. Again.

Tony scoffs. “And how’d that work out for you?”

Honestly, not too bad, all things considered. Yeah, he may have miscalculated a bit, and he almost… But he didn’t, everything ended up fine in the end.

And you know what? Peter would make the same choice, if given the chance.

He can’t say any of this to Tony, though, so he stays quiet.

Tony huffs out an angry breath, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose.

Peter shifts in the silence. He works up the courage to try to explain, “I didn’t go behind your back. I swear, I just happened upon it.”

Tony’s eyes stay closed as he lets out a short laugh. “Right,” he says, “you just ‘happened upon—'” He adds finger-quotes— "the home-base of an entire trafficking ring. Try again.”

Peter’s face twitches in anger. “I’m not lying!” he insists, throwing his hands up. “Go ahead, ask—”

Tony’s eyes flash open, and before Peter can get another word in… He erupts.

“No, you know what? The adult is talking now.”

The line is so overplayed in Tony’s “talks,” Peter can’t help but to roll his eyes.

Tony continues, “Do you even fucking think before you jump into things like this, or do you just do them?”

Peter opens his mouth, but Tony sees it and says:

“No. Zip it. I know you didn’t think because there were seven armed men in there, Peter. If I hadn’t shown up to bail you out when I did, you would be fucking dead. And—will you take off that damn mask?”

Peter doesn’t hesitate. He rips off the mask, not bothering to school his facial expression, just letting his glare rest and grow. A piece of him wants Tony to know he’s angry.

They stare each other down for a long couple of seconds. Finally, Tony scoffs, shaking his head.

“Get out of here,” he says. “I can’t even look at you right now.”

Peter’s speechless for a moment, mouth moving wordlessly. He feels hot tears fill his eyes, and he barely manages to hold them back as he says, “This is so unfair! You—ugh! You can’t talk to me like that! I don’t care about blood. You aren’t my dad!”

The second it’s left his mouth, Peter knows he’s made a huge mistake. He turns and walks away before he can see Tony’s reaction, stomping down the hall and into his room. He slams the door, and the force of it causes the walls to shake.

Growling out an angry, hurt noise, Peter slams his mask on the ground, throwing himself back onto the bed in the corner. He stares up at the ceiling, blinking back tears. He will not cry over this. He won’t.

He does, but it’s—he’s—it’s fine! So, so fine.

God, it’s so unfair! What did Tony even expect him to do? Let them get away? As if. Peter… He couldn’t do that. He just couldn’t. It wouldn’t be right.

And even if it was dangerous, it was something that had to be done. It’s just like Uncle Ben said: Peter was given these powers, and now he has a responsibility to use them for good.

Peter… He just wants to make his family proud. Why can’t Tony just be proud?

Ugh. It’s so unfair. He feels so—so pushed aside. Tony wouldn’t even let him talk.

He rubs a hand over his eyes, sighing.

Then he sits up, pulling away his hands. Whatever. If Tony won’t let him talk, then he’s not going to let Tony say anything more, either.

He snatches his mask from where he left it on the ground, pulling it back over his face. Then he walks over and opens the window and has one leg out before he pauses. “FRIDAY,” he says, but then he hesitates.

 _What’s Tony doing?_ he wants to ask.

But he doesn’t.

“Nevermind,” he says. Then he’s climbing out the window, not bothering to shut it behind him.

————————

Tony paces the space at the foot of his bed, a trudging, anxious back-and-forth that leaves him thinking he might burn a trail into the carpet at this rate. He groans, pushing the heels of his hands into his eyes.

He can’t stop hearing Peter’s words playing through his head on repeat. He’s not sure if he’ll ever forget it, for as long as he lives.

He groans again. He’s the one who’s angry here. The kid’s the one who fucked up.

So then why does Tony feel like the bad guy?

“FRIDAY, what’s Peter up to?” he asks. Last time, the answer was crying, so Tony’s not sure he wants to hear what he’s doing now. Probably drawing a picture of Tony to throw darts at later.

“Peter is currently stopping a mugging between—”

“I’m sorry. What?”

Tony stops his pacing, looking up at the ceiling.

“He is—”

“Stop.” He turns towards the door. “I know you didn’t just say that he went out as Spider-Man again.”

FRIDAY is silent, which is telling enough.

For the umpteenth time tonight, Tony sees red.

“I’ll kill him,” he says simply, voice high. “I’m officially going to kill him. Okay.”

He starts for the door then freezes in his tracks.

_I don’t care about blood. You’re not my dad!_

And he’s back to pacing again. It feels like it was just yesterday that Peter and Tony were laughing themselves to tears over something ridiculous Peter had said.

Right. That was yesterday.

How is it possible that things can turn to shit so fast?

Tony could walk out the door right now, track down the kid, and give him a piece of his mind.

But then that leaves them right back where they are now.

Tony takes a pillow from the foot of the bed and throws it across the room, acting like—

Well. Acting like his irrational teenager.

Christ. What was Tony thinking? He can hardly keep track of himself. How could he think he could possibly father a kid?

“What’s he doing now, FRI?”

It takes a half of a second for FRIDAY to respond. “He is now buying a soda from a hot dog vendor.”

Of course. Probably giving it to the victim, the little hero.

“Tell me when he gets back to his aunt’s house,” Tony says.

He’s still mad, don’t misunderstand. But rather than flying in guns a-blazin’, Tony’s going to do something he doesn’t do often:

He’s going to be patient.

————————

Peter’s halfway back to May’s by the time he realizes he left his bookbag—and by extension the key to the apartment—back at the tower.

Not that it matters anyway. Tony’s probably already at May’s, ready for round two.

Or worse, maybe he’s already called May and told her he’s done with Peter. For all Peter knows, Tony could be waiting so he can demand Peter return the suit. That’s what happened the last time he was this mad.

With a sigh, Peter swings up onto the next rooftop, an apartment building with a nice little greenhouse on top. He sits on the lip of the rooftop, legs dangling over the edge, and just looks out over the city for a bit.

It’s late, around the time Peter would normally start heading back home from a normal patrol.

Key word: normal.

Peter sighs again, kicking his legs out.

He didn’t mean what he said, about Tony not being… He didn’t mean it. Honest. It just—he was mad, and he wanted to hurt him.

Well, great going, Peter. You managed to push away your own flipping dad. And you literally just got him…

Jeez. Peter doesn’t know what he was thinking when he decided to tell Tony. Surely, he deserves a better son than Peter could ever be.

He groans, falling back so that he’s lying down, hands covering his eyes.

What would Aunt May say to all of this? What would Ben say? They always encouraged him to be forgiving, to take the high road. Not to be spiteful and mean.

He has to go back.

And, sure, he already had to go back anyway because, well, uh, no key, but regardless, Peter knows he has to apologize and try to fix this. Even if he still doesn’t think the original argument was his fault.

And maybe he can convince Tony not to give up on him over this.

He sits up, rolling his shoulders to prepare before flipping out his webs, swinging in the direction of the tower. He stops a few low-level crimes along the way and helps change a tire.

He goes in through the front door. The elevator ride up is quiet, only interrupted by FRIDAY’s greeting, and he steps out when he gets to the penthouse suite.

He looks around for a moment, pulling off his mask and finally finding Tony asleep on the couch. Peter’s debating whether he’s going to wake him or not when Tony rouses, blinking quickly and clearly groggy as he sits up and makes eye-contact with Peter.

Rubbing his face with one hand, Tony says, “Peter. I thought… You came back.” He stands up, stretching as he says, “Of course you came back. We still need to talk.”

Peter nods, assuming he doesn’t need to give an answer to that. “Do you want me to make you a cup of coffee?” he asks as a joke.

Tony snorts. “The sludge you make cannot legally be considered coffee. So, no, thanks.”

Peter chuckles with him, somewhat nervously.

“I will make myself one, though. Follow me into the kitchen?”

“Okay.”

They walk over to the kitchen area, Peter trailing behind Tony, hands twisting around the mask. He sits on the counter while Tony sets to making his coffee.

“Juice or water?”

“Um…” Peter’s stomach is in knots. “I’m okay, but thanks.”

Tony gives him a look.

“Juice, please,” Peter amends, and Tony prepares him a cup of orange juice once he’s started brewing his coffee.

All the while, Peter feels the incredibly awkward silence deep in his bones.

“Tony,” he tries to start at one point, but Tony looks at him and says:

“Wait until I’ve got some coffee in me first. You do not want to have this conversation with a post-nap Tony.”

Peter nods, and they go back to the quiet, only interrupted when Peter thanks Tony for the juice.

After what feels like centuries, Tony finally gets to pour his mug of coffee, and as he takes his first sip, Peter says, “About earlier…”

Tony holds up a finger. He finishes his sip then sets down his mug, leaning back against the counter across from Peter. He says, “First off, I’m sorry for interrupting you so much earlier. You deserve to get your two-cents in, no matter how mad I am. I’ll be honest and say that that wasn’t a conversation: it was just me ranting at you. And for that, I’m sorry.”

Peter nods.

“Although,” Tony continues, “next time I send you to your room, I expect you to stay there.”

“Technically, you didn’t send me to my room?” Peter tries. “You just kinda told me to leave.”

Tony sighs. “I shouldn’t have done that, either. That was harsh, and cruel.”

“Speaking of harsh… Tony, about what I said…”

Tony picks up his cup, saying before he takes a sip, “Don’t worry about it.”

Peter chews the inside of his cheek. “The thing is—”

“Peter, it’s fine.”

“No, I—”

“You don’t have to worry about—”

“You’re doing it again.”

Tony goes silent.

Peter’s face heats up. “Sorry,” he says, “it’s just… You’re doing the interrupting thing again.”

For a second, Tony is silent, lips pressed firmly together. Then he sets down his mug, saying, “Okay. Go on.”

Nodding, Peter takes a breath. “I… What I said, about you not being my dad… I didn’t mean it. That was—it was really mean.”

“You’re a teenager. You’ll say mean things sometimes. It’s fine.”

But it doesn’t seem fine. Tony isn’t even looking at him, studying the fridge beside him instead.

Peter shakes his head. “It wasn’t just mean, though. It… It wasn’t true, Tony. I’m…” He’s mortified when his voice starts to grow hoarse. “I’m really, really happy you’re my dad, actually. I shouldn’t have said that. I wish I didn’t.”

Tony sighs. “We all say things we regret sometimes.”

Peter blinks away the tears that try to come into his eyes. “I get if you—if you don’t want me as your son anymore. Or if you want the suit back.”

Finally, Tony looks at him. His mouth is parted, and there’s a line between his eyebrows.

“Not want you—kid.” His voice goes softer. “Peter. Why would you think that?”

Mumbling, Peter looks away as he says, “I disappointed you. And then what I said…”

He hears Tony sigh. “I do want the suit back…for two weeks. If only to keep myself heart-attack free for a little while.”

Peter huffs a laugh at the joke.

“But Peter…” He looks up and locks eyes with Tony. “I will never not want you. Agh, double negatives. I will always want you. You’re… Tell me if it’s weird still, but you’re my son.” He clenches a fist as he says, “I get it: I wasn’t there for you growing up, and that’s not your fault. So, if you don’t see me like that quite yet, it’s okay. But kiddo…”

He offers Peter a small smile. “I suck at saying it, but I…care about you. And I will always want you. No matter what.” His smile grows into something a little more sinister. “Even when you do stupid, dangerous, irrational things that take ten years off my life-span. And that is why I’m taking the suit.”

“For two weeks,” Peter repeats.

“For two weeks,” Tony confirms. “Now, get over here and hug your old man. I almost lost you tonight.”

Peter falls into the hug, and the gravity of what happened tonight finally has the chance to sink in. He wraps his arms tight around Tony.

“Thanks for coming,” he says, face pressed against Tony’s shoulder.

Tony’s arms tighten around him. “Always,” he promises. “Any time. I will always do everything I can to be there.”

Peter nods against him. He doesn’t need to say the same thing back because he knows Tony already knows.

“God, I need a vacation,” Tony says when they pull apart. “We need a vacation. We’re going on vacation.”

Peter laughs in disbelief. “Aren’t I supposed to be in trouble?” he reminds him.

Tony waves a hand. “Believe me, after three days in the car with me, you’ll be wishing I just took away your phone.”

“Road trip?”

“Why the hell not? Ask your Aunt May. We’ll leave tomorrow.”

“Wait, tomorrow?!”


End file.
